by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
Eric flicked the reins, urging his horses to pick up their pace. He’d never seriously considered courting again, but he’d also never met a woman he thought he might enjoy getting to know. There was something about Michaela that made him curious to find out what she thought about life. She was obviously generous and kindhearted. She’d shown that by her generosity in teaching his children. Life hadn’t been easy for her, and yet from all outward appearances, she’d not let it turn her bitter.
Maybe he didn’t need a woman in his life to ensure his family survived, but didn’t he long for the companionship of a partner and spouse? The image of Michaela’s slender form streaked with mud brought a smile to his face. He’d seen the red hue that brushed across her cheeks at his presence. Even caught in an embarrassing situation, she’d managed to appear poised. For the first time in years, Eric wondered if he should let his heart take a risk—and maybe Michaela was the woman he’d take that risk with.
Chapter 8
The following Saturday, after the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, Michaela saddled up Honey and headed over to the Johnson farm. The wind blew through the trees, lending a pleasant coolness to the early fall morning. Emma had been feeling particularly well these past few days and had shooed Michaela out the door, promising her that Daniel would be close by all day and able to help her if she needed anything.
During the past few days, Michaela had spent every waking moment cleaning and cooking—anything to keep her mind off Anna’s adoption. Times of prayer had come interspersed with tears of frustration. She knew God had a plan for her life, but she longed for His confirmation of what that was.
“Mrs. Macintosh!” Sarah jumped off the porch steps and ran toward Michaela with Ruby in tow. “Rebecca said if it was all right with you, we could give you a tour of our house today before lessons.”
As soon as Michaela had secured her horse, Sarah grabbed her hand and hurried toward the front porch. “You’ve never seen our room.”
Michaela laughed quietly, certain Sarah’s suggestion was simply a way to delay her lesson. The previous week, it had been obvious that Sarah had not practiced her scales during the week, and more than likely the same would hold true for this week.
“Make it quick,” Rebecca said to the girls after greeting Michaela with a broad smile. “We can’t keep Mrs. Macintosh here all day.”
Sarah and Ruby each took one of Michaela’s hands and led her into the house.
“Did we ever tell you that Father built the house?” Sarah’s voice bubbled with her usual excitement. “Each year he added on until it was big enough for all of us.”
Michaela followed the girls up the narrow staircase to the second floor, the one section of the house she’d never seen.
“There are four bedrooms upstairs,” Sarah informed Michaela. “Ruby and I share a room.” Sarah wrinkled her nose and stuck out her bottom lip, apparently not thrilled that she had to share a room with her little sister.
The girls led her to a room where there were two small beds with pink and white matching quilts and a simple pine dresser. White lace curtains hung gracefully on the window that overlooked the front yard, and several hooked rugs lay scattered about the floor.
“This is our room.” Ruby threw herself atop her bed and grinned.
“It’s beautiful.” For a moment, all Michaela could see was Leah’s room. Ethen had painted the walls pink, and she’d hand-stitched the quilt from scraps Aunt Clara had given her. She’d planned to make a quilt for Anna’s room, but now someone else would fill that place in Anna’s life.
Rebecca called up the stairs, drawing Michaela out of the past as she followed the two sisters back downstairs. Rebecca stood in the kitchen drying dishes. Determined to shove aside the ache in her heart, Michaela complimented her on the house.
“Rebecca did most of the decorating,” Sarah said. “Father says she has a knack for it.”
Rebecca tousled her younger sister’s hair, then wiped her hands on a white apron embroidered with tiny yellow flowers along the bottom. “Our mother did most of it. I’ve just added a few things.” Rebecca pointed to a fresh loaf lying on the counter. “She’s the one who taught me how to cook. I thought you might like a piece later.”
“I’d love one.” Michaela smiled, savoring the pleasant aroma of ginger that filled the air.
She studied Rebecca for a moment, impressed at how she was able to help manage the household at such a young age. She had her father’s brows and the same expressive eyes that seemed to smile when she was happy. Her long black hair had been parted in the center, then pulled back smoothly and arranged into a simple chignon, leaving a frame of bangs to soften the look.
At first Michaela had been afraid that in offering to give them piano lessons, Rebecca might feel defensive, but instead Rebecca seemed to yearn for the chance to develop a friendship with her.
Rebecca drew her arms around Sarah and held her tight. “You’re first this morning.” Rebecca glanced up at Michaela to explain. “We drew numbers last night to decide the order.”
By the end of the morning, Michaela had given each of the children thirty minutes of lessons and had eaten several pieces of homemade bread with ice-cold lemonade. Ruby, her last student for the day, slipped outside as soon as her lesson was over, leaving Michaela to gather up her music.
“How are they doing?”
Michaela glanced up from the piano bench. Eric stood casually in the doorway, causing her to wonder how long he’d been standing there. The heat in her cheeks rose as she remembered the last time he’d seen her, covered in mud.
“Your children show talent.” She stood slowly, stretching the muscles in her back that had tightened after sitting for so long. “And if not talented, they certainly have energy and enthusiasm.”
“My children will never be accused of being dull or boring.” Eric stepped into the room and leaned against the back of a cushioned chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing. It’s always seemed like such a waste to have a piano no one could play.”
“Hopefully that will change, but I have to warn you. They have to practice, which means months of scales and mistakes.”
“I think we can deal with that.”
The intensity of his expression made her heart race unexpectedly. Michaela turned back toward the piano, inwardly fighting her reaction to his presence. Letting out a deep sigh, she quickly gathered the music into her arms. What was it about him? Had it simply been too long since she’d spent time in the company of a man other than Philip or Daniel? Still, the effect he had on her was disturbing.
“Mrs. Macintosh, would you like to stay for lunch?” Rebecca asked as she stepped into the front room, her hands clasped behind her back.
Michaela gave her a smile of regret. “I appreciate the offer, but I really do need to head home.” She pulled the music against her chest and took a step toward the door. “Maybe another time.”
Rebecca thanked her again for the lesson, then went back into the kitchen, leaving her and Eric alone again for the moment. He followed her outside, his towering profile a strong presence.
“How’s Emma doing?” Eric’s long stride took the porch steps two at a time. “How’s she feeling?”
Michaela slowed her pace. “The doctor says she’s doing well, but I know they both would appreciate your continued prayers.”
“I certainly will.” Eric untied the lead rope on her horse and brought the animal to her.
“I know they’re both grateful you’re here right now. Daniel wanted to plant some extra crops this fall, and it will be easier with you helping to care for Emma.”
She shoved her music into her leather bag. “I’m actually a city girl, but I have to admit, this valley is growing on me.”
“City life never was for me.” Eric scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt and smiled. “I spent one summer in Boston, and that was enough to convince me never to return. I wouldn’t be surprised if aft
er Emma’s baby comes you decide to stay.”
She shook her head and ran her fingers down the horse’s mane. “I have a life waiting for me back in Boston.”
Eric held out his hands, and after hesitating briefly, Michaela allowed him to help her into the saddle. A tingle of anticipation raced through her. For the first time since she’d arrived, Boston and Philip seemed a world away.
A knock on the kitchen door drew Michaela away from the bread she was kneading. Rebecca stood on the back porch, shivering in her long-sleeved dress.
“Rebecca, come in.” Michaela ushered the young woman to a chair beside the warm stove. “Where’s your coat?”
Even in early October, the temperature had begun to drop in the late afternoon, and though the sun had yet to set, the wind brought a brisk coolness with it.
“I wasn’t thinking.” Rebecca leaned closer toward the stove, warming her hands for a moment.
“Is something wrong?” Michaela left the bread and sat down beside her, trying to read her troubled expression.
“It’s Father.” Rebecca met Michaela’s puzzled gaze. “He’s furious with me.”
Michaela wondered how Eric would feel if she got involved in something between the two of them. It certainly wasn’t her place, yet if Rebecca trusted her enough to come to her, she couldn’t send the young woman away. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“It’s Jake Markham.” Rebecca chewed on her thumbnail. “He’s sweet on me, and, well, I guess you could say I feel the same about him.”
Michaela smiled at the picture of young love, remembering the time when she first fell for Ethen. Her aunt and uncle had been extremely cautious at first, and Rebecca was even younger than she had been.
“He thinks you’re too young?”
Rebecca nodded. “The problem is, if I were thirty, I’d still be too young.”
Michaela chuckled at the unrealistic image of Eric locking his daughters away for the rest of their lives. “I suspect that if you give him some time to get used to the idea, he’ll be extremely supportive.”
Rebecca leaned her elbows against the table and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. “Maybe, but it’s just so hard to talk to him about boys and womanly matters. He doesn’t understand.”
“It’s hard for fathers to let their little girls grow up.” Michaela’s heart ached for the young woman, knowing full well how difficult it was to grow up without the love and comfort of a mother.
Rebecca blew out a sharp breath. “Jake came by this morning to ask Father if he could court me.”
“What did your father say?”
“He said absolutely not.” Rebecca slapped the palms of her hands against the table and leaned forward. “He said we can discuss the subject after I finish school. You have no idea how humiliating it was.”
Michaela stood and went back to kneading the bread, giving herself time to think. She remembered the intense feelings she felt toward Ethen, as well as Aunt Clara’s questioning her readiness to marry. “You’ve made bread before.”
“Of course.” Rebecca’s brow rose in question.
Michaela continued to knead, pushing down the dough with the palm of her hand against the wooden board. The pungent smell of yeast permeated the room. “When you first mix the ingredients together, it takes a bit of time for the flour, milk, and sugar to mix together and become soft and pliable.”
“I suppose.”
Michaela formed the dough into a ball, then set it into a bowl. “Give your father some time to get used to the idea that you’re growing up. He’ll let you, but he loves you very much and simply wants what is best for you.”
“What if I don’t agree with what’s best for me?” Rebecca let out a soft chuckle. “What if he wants to make me into a loaf of white bread and I’d rather be a pan of sweet cinnamon rolls?”
Michaela brushed the loose flour off her hands, smiling at the image. “Raising children is not easy, but you’re blessed to have a father who loves and cares for you.”
“I know.” Rebecca fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve and frowned. “It’s just that sometimes I think if I had a mother, it would be much easier to talk to her about … certain things.”
Michaela sat beside Rebecca and squeezed her hand. It seemed natural to talk to her like a daughter—except she must never forget that role was not hers. “I’m always here whenever you want to talk, but give your father a chance to be there for you. He loves you.”
Michaela stepped out of Daniel and Emma’s warm farmhouse and into the brisk November weather. Shivering, she quickly saddled Honey and headed into town. With Christmas only a few weeks away, she needed to shop for gifts.
Despite the chilling wind that blew across the valley, she enjoyed the short trip into Cranton. Lazy brooks weaved between a patchwork of farms and the jagged confines of stone fences, reminding her she was miles away from the bustling sounds and smells of Boston.
Soon the clattering of hooves and voices drifted toward her as the town came into view. After securing Honey’s lead rope to a post outside the general store, Michaela hurried inside, thankful for the warmth from the woodstove in the corner. She wouldn’t find the selection she was accustomed to in Boston, but Mr. Cooper made sure the shelves were stocked for the Christmas holiday.
After greeting Mr. Cooper’s daughter-in-law, Meredith, who stood idly behind the counter engrossed in a dime novel, Michaela began her search for appropriate gifts. Changing her mind several times, she finally made her selection—a lovely brooch for her aunt, two pairs of gloves for Daniel and Philip, and a hand-embroidered shawl for Emma.
Michaela couldn’t resist buying a small coat and hat for Emma’s baby. She wished she were a better seamstress and could have made things for everyone, but this would have to do.
Next she picked out a small doll for Anna and some candy wrapped in bright paper and ribbons for each of the Johnson children. She made her way toward the front of the store and laid her gifts on the counter.
“How’s Emma?” Meredith pulled a pencil from the dark bun on the top of her head and tallied the purchases.
“She’s doing well. The baby’s very active, which the doctor says is a good sign.”
The two women chatted for another minute until Michaela paid her bill and placed her purchases in the leather pouch she’d brought with her. Putting her gloves on, she hurried out to Honey.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, Michaela looked up to see Eric. He took off his Stetson, revealing his dark, tousled hair. She studied his black shirt and well-fitting trousers, trying to ignore the unwelcome stirring of her heart at his nearness.
“Michaela, how are you?”
He smiled, and she refocused her gaze to his face, but even there, the dark brown recesses of his eyes seemed to reach into places in her soul she didn’t want him to find. “Fine, thank you. Just finished my Christmas shopping.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
She shivered as a cold gust of wind blew across her face. “I need to send some gifts to Boston, and I want to make sure they get there in time.”
“Then I guess it’s not too early.” He rotated the brim of his hat between his hands. “I was just about to get a hot cup of coffee at the hotel. Would you care to join me?”
Michaela hesitated, then nodded. It would be nice to warm up before heading home.
The waitress seated them at a small table in the corner of the restaurant and told them she would bring their coffee right away. A dozen tables with blue-checkered tablecloths surrounded a large stone fireplace that kept the room comfortable in spite of the cold outside.
“I have to tell you how much I’ve been enjoying teaching your children,” Michaela said when the waitress left.
Eric rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “We have our share of conflicts, but they’re wonderful children.”
Michaela took off her gloves and laid them on the table. “Do I detect a bit of pride in your voice?”
“A whole lot, actually.” Eric smiled, and the dimple she’d noticed the day they met reappeared.
The waitress set two steamy cups of coffee in front of them. Michaela warmed her hands on the hot mug, surprised at how her feelings of nervousness had dissolved. “Daniel has told me how much things have changed in Cranton since you arrived.”
“We certainly didn’t have anything as nice as this.” He shook his head slowly. “Hard to believe it’s been almost eighteen years. When Susanna and I came out here, we had little more than the clothes on our backs and a dream of a better life to keep us going.”
“She must have been beautiful. Your children certainly are.” Michaela took a sip of the coffee, enjoying the warmth that flowed through her body.
“Susanna Elizabeth Stevens. That was her maiden name. She told me it wasn’t until she was five that she could pronounce her whole name.” He chuckled at the memory. “And you’re right, she was beautiful.”
For a moment, his gaze drifted toward the fireplace, seemingly lost within the crackling flames. “Sometimes, for just a moment, I forget she’s gone; then it all comes back to me.”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”
“That’s all right.” His smile returned, replacing the momentary look of sadness. “We had a good life, full of happy memories. I like talking about her.”
Sensing his desire to share, she encouraged him. “Please go on.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Our parents knew each other before we were born, so we grew up together on Nantucket Island. Her father was a retired captain of a whaling vessel. Mine was a minister. We married at eighteen. Too young in many ways, but we were committed until death do us part. I just never expected it to happen so soon.”
Michaela shivered in agreement despite the warm room. His words rang far too true. How many times had she felt the same way about Ethen? She had always imagined them growing old together, surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But that would never happen.